


Let It Snow

by foxandbee



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Age Difference, Awkward Harry, Christmas, Christmas Caroling, Clumsy Louis, Getting Together, I'm really freakin tired right now, The title sucks because I'm too tired to think of a better one, i'm not sure what else
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 14:09:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1094841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxandbee/pseuds/foxandbee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s Sunday the 1st when Louis realises that, oh crap, it’s December. And he really only realises this because he walks out of Sainsbury’s and straight into a tiny, tiny human. <em>Frosty the Snowman</em> cuts off abruptly when the rest of the choir notices that Louis has just flattened their soprano.</p><p>Or the one where Harry's a Christmas caroller and Louis' a bit silly and it takes them almost a month to get their shit together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let It Snow

**Author's Note:**

> I have no words. My brain has switched off. It's so fucking hot. I'm melting.
> 
> I'll probably edit this later.
> 
> I hope you like it and Merry Christmas.
> 
> *edit* I FORGOT YOUR KISSES OH GOD  
> xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
> 
> *edit edit* Oh Lord. I'm re-reading this and finding so many mistakes and typos. I literally just cringed with embarrassment. I'm sorry!!! I posted this at like 5 in the morning before rushing out to buy prawns. As one does. So, yeah. Oops. Sorry.

It’s Sunday the 1st when Louis realises that, oh crap, it’s December. And he really only realises this because he walks out of Sainsbury’s and straight into a tiny, tiny human. _Frosty the Snowman_ cuts off abruptly when the rest of the choir notices that Louis has just flattened their soprano.

“Oh god,” is all Louis can manage.

The little girl starts crying.

“Oh god,” Louis repeats and crouches down next to her prone form, hands flapping around uselessly like fanning the poor thing might stop her from bawling.

“I am so, _so_ sorry. I didn’t even see you. How was I supposed to see you when you’re so teensy tiny?”

Without warning Louis is completely surrounded, and he has never before seen primary school kids look so damn _threatening_. They’re all glaring at him with big, accusatory eyes, as if Louis did it on purpose, as if Louis finds pleasure in mowing down small children like they’re bowling pins. He gets a sudden flashback to his Year 9 performance of _Lord of the Flies_ and prays to God there aren’t any large boulders nearby.

Luckily, Louis is saved by the appearance of someone who is far too tall to be in primary school.

“Emma, honey, what happened?” the tall someone asks in a slow, soothing voice.

“I am _so_ sorry,” Louis says once again, hands imploring. “It was an accident, I didn’t even see her there, just walked straight into her. I didn’t mean it.”

Tall Someone lifts Emma into a sitting position and settles her fallen hat back onto her ruffled hair. His hands are massive, they completely dwarf her miniature head.

“Of course you didn’t mean it,” the boy says with a chuckle, then he glances up from Emma and Louis gets a proper look at him.

So maybe this boy’s _legs_ don’t belong in the 3rd grade, but his dimples sure do. So do his shining eyes and the little baby hairs curling out from under his blue beanie. Louis becomes _very_ distracted, very quickly. Why is he kneeling on the frozen pavement?

He hears a sniffle and oh, right, he just pulverised a toddler.

With a start Louis realises that he’s spent an indecent amount of time ogling someone who is probably not even legal yet. And he’s already assaulted a child today; he doesn’t need to give anyone any more reasons to arrest him.

He directs his gaze back to the little girl in front of him.

“Is she okay? Did I hurt her?” Louis worries his bottom lip between his teeth.

When he gets no answer he turns back to the boy, who flushes a delicate shade of pink and quickly ducks down to assess Emma’s condition. Her hysterical wailing has quieted down to small hiccupping gasps, so at least people passing by no longer go out of their way to stop and frown at Louis.

“No, she’s not hurt. I think it was more of a shock than anything.”

Louis heaves a sigh of relief, and then turns his most sincere eyes upon Emma.

“I am really, _really_ sorry, Emma. Can you ever forgive me?” he asks, with a smile he hopes is charming and not manic.

She curls a tiny fist in the boy’s scarf but nods shyly nonetheless.

Louis sticks around long enough to make sure he hasn’t caused any permanent damage, then grabs his microwaveable meals and legs it the fuck out of there.

*******

On the 2nd of December Louis walks into the office and promptly spits his coffee all over an unfortunately placed receptionist. And honestly, it’s a good thing Louis is gay because he’s been having disastrous luck with the ladies.

“Oh god,” Louis croaks, and his hands flutter about once again. It seems Louis’ knee-jerk reaction to most situations is unnecessary flailing.

“Oh god, Perrie, I am so, _so_ sorry. Oh shit, I’m sorry. It was an accident, I swear. Sorry,” Louis babbles, while trying to mop up the hot liquid with his tie.

“It’s fine, Louis, don’t worry. I mean, who did I think I was trying to wear a white skirt anyway? It was just a brand-spanking-new target for the universe,” Perrie says, her tone dry with just a touch of bitterness. Kind of like Louis’ coffee. Or former coffee.

“It was new? _Fuck_. I’ll buy you another one,” Louis offers guiltily.

Perrie looks at him with a sympathetic smile and a gentle pat to his cheek. “This is Jill Stuart, darling.”

Louis looks at the skirt. “I’m sorry we had to meet under such circumstances, Jill.”

Perrie smacks him upside the head with a manila file folder, but at least she doesn’t seem on the verge of tears anymore.

“It’s designer, you dolt. It cost 270 quid.”

 _270 pounds!?_ Who pays 270 pounds for a _skirt_? It’s one fucking metre of material. Louis could tie a jumper around his waist and achieve the same result.

“I’ll pay for dry cleaning?”

Half an hour later a plastic bag is unceremoniously dumped onto Louis’ desk with a wet slap. Louis looks up from his keyboard and takes in the sight of Perrie wearing her delicate silk blouse and a spare pair of Louis’ slacks.

“Looking sharp, Pez. Slightly baggy in the back there, but apart from that you look hot.”

“Fuck off, Tomlinson. We can’t all have your arse.”

Louis grins because he knows she’s not mad. No one is ever mad where Louis’ bum is concerned.

“So why did you decide to throw up on me anyway?” Perrie asks, perching on the edge of Louis’ desk.

“I was a little caught off guard when I first walked in here,” Louis replies, gesturing with his head to the room at large.

Perrie nods in understanding. “It is quite a shock if you’re unprepared.”

And that, Louis thinks, is the understatement of the century. The office looks as if Father Christmas himself walked in and then spontaneously erupted. There’s red and white and tinsel _everywhere_. There’s baubles hanging from the ceiling and paper chains strung up along cubicle dividers and someone even went so far as to spray fake snow in intricate patterns on the windows. There’s a Christmas tree twinkling merrily in the corner and Louis’ Superman mug has disappeared, only to be replaced with something green and red and entirely too glittery. Louis suspects Niall was somehow involved.

In fact, the only part of the office that doesn’t look as if an elven workshop exploded is Louis’ cubicle. And it hasn’t gone unnoticed.

“What’s with you, Scrooge? Where’s your Christmas cheer?”

“I honestly didn’t even realise it was December.”

*******

When the 4th of December dawns, Louis rolls over and punches his alarm clock clear off his bedside table. But it’s a sturdy little shit and continues playing _Feliz Navidad_ without so much as a gurgle. Louis groans and buries his head further into his pillow.

It’s not that Louis doesn’t like _Christmas itself_ , because he tried to convince himself he hated it every year growing up, and every year, sooner or later, he gave in to the lights and the bells and the gingerbread houses. What Louis doesn’t like is his birthday falling the day before Christmas. Louis’ mum was always adamant that the 24th of December was Louis’ day and no one else’s. But it was hard to persuade his sisters, not to mention his friends, to care about Louis’ birthday when they were too busy being excited for what came after it.

So Louis kind of resents the fact that he can’t be the centre of attention on his birthday of all days. And for that reason it takes Louis a lot longer than the average person to get into the holiday mood.

*******

On the evening of Thursday the 5th Louis is near sprinting down Main Street, trying to get to the dry cleaners before they close so that Perrie will stop giving him the fucking puppy eyes when he walks into the office every morning.

He’s forced to come to a screeching halt in order to avoid decapitating a little old lady. Louis apologises profusely, as seems to be his default setting lately, but that doesn’t stop the woman from whacking him thoroughly with her handbag. For a little old lady she is deceptively strong.

Burning humiliation, and probable bruises, heat Louis’ entire upper body and in the process his ears defrost.

The dying strains of _Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer_ are being carried along on the winter wind and Louis cranes his neck to see where the voices are coming from.

He spots them standing outside the Post Office, a little army of pint-sized carollers and their fearless beanpole of a leader.

He towers over everyone else and yet seems to be the perfect fit, all at the same time. Maybe it’s the childish energy that comes flowing out of him, pouring over the town square and splashing back off the sides of buildings. Maybe it’s the way he bounces on his toes, wiggling his hips and clapping his mitten-clad hands along to the beat. Or maybe it’s the light in his eyes and the how the tip of his nose has turned pink from the cold.

Whatever it is, it has Louis taking long strides in his direction before he even registers that he’s moving.

For the second time that week Louis catches himself focusing far too much of his attention on a boy who is definitely too young, and he freezes mid-stride.

As if he could hear Louis thinking about him, the boy looks over and meets Louis’ gaze. He’s got green eyes.

Louis whips around and hurries back towards the dry cleaners’ before his traitorous feet can do anything stupid.

*******

Monday the 9th of December is a gruelling day at the office, because apparently the real estate business slows down for no man, jolly red suit or otherwise. Perrie has finally stopped pouting at him and Louis feels the urgent need to run back down to the dry cleaners and kiss Mr Cheng. He’s not too sure that’d go down well with Mrs Cheng.

Louis has also draped little white fairy lights along the walls of his cubicle, if only to stop Niall turning up every hour in an attempt to force reindeer antlers on his head. Louis’ just a bit particular when it comes to his hair.

Louis _wants_ to be merry, he honestly does. He _wants_ to wear hideous jumpers and enjoy wrapping presents and join Niall in spontaneous break room Michael Bublé recitals.

And he _tries_ to participate in festivities. He bought Niall and Perrie and Zayn and Liam each their own advent calendars. He sits with Liam and watches Christmas movie after Christmas movie as they eat their Pad Thai. He even went with Liam to pick out a Christmas tree on Saturday.

But then Liam invited Zayn over to help decorate the tree and they spent the majority of Sunday afternoon sneaking up on each other holding mistletoe and demanding kisses. And then they decided to be all adorable and domestic and bake Christmas cookies and lick icing of each other’s dicks (Louis only assumes that happened, he didn’t want to hang around to find out). And so Louis finds his Christmas cheer dwindling when his two best friends are making out on the couch and he goes to sleep in a cold bed, alone.

It’s as he’s driving home, just two streets away from the house he shares with Liam, that he sees a swarm of midgets.

Or at least he thinks it’s a swarm of midgets until he gets closer and notices the lanky figure leading them along the footpath, a child in each hand and another clinging to his back.

Louis spends so long looking that he almost sideswipes a mailbox.

That night his bed feels far too big.

*******

It’s after work on the 10th and Liam’s off with Zayn doing God knows what. They’re probably skating hand in hand around a frozen pond somewhere, the sappy fuckers. Louis has spiked his own hot chocolate and is sitting in the living room, glaring at the Christmas tree that is silently mocking him from its corner, when he hears the doorbell ring.

Louis contemplates just not answering at all, but then he remembers that he’d ordered Liam’s Christmas present online, so he pulls himself off the couch and gropes his way to the front hallway with only minimal dizziness.

When the door swings back he immediately regrets his life choices.

Because Tall Someone is standing on his doorstep looking cold and bright and as pretty as ever.

Recognition flashes through his eyes and his mouth pops open into a dainty little ‘o’. Louis valiantly ignores the images that ‘o’ conjures up. He’s surrounded by _children_.

Then the boy clears his throat and nudges a little girl attached to his hip. “Go on,” he murmurs, and his voice is red velvet, deep and smooth.

“Good evening, sir,” the girl squeaks in a shaky little voice. “We’re from the Deacon Road After School Care Centre and this year we’re carolling to raise money for Westmeath Children’s Hospital. Can we please sing you a song?”

The boy’s proud grin is staggering. Louis can only nod.

The kids all gather themselves, like they’re about to walk onstage at an X Factor audition or something, and the boy counts them in.

_I love those J-I-N-G-L-E bells_

_Oh, those holiday J-I-N-G-L-E bells_

_Oh, those happy J-I-N-G-L-E, B-E-double L-S_

_I love those J-I-N-G-L-E bells_

Louis should probably at least _try_ to appear interested in the kids, but all he can do is stare at the boy. He’s wearing a black pea coat that hugs him in all the right places and a grey knit scarf looped twice around his neck. He’s not wearing a hat today so his curls hang free, fluttering slightly in the light breeze and dusted over with icy flakes.

Louis can’t quite decide whether he’d rather force feed the boy marshmallows or spread him naked over the living room carpet.

A gust of wind blows snow flurries across the front pathway and Louis becomes horrifically aware that he’s wearing chocolate stained track pants and Liam’s ratty old Batman t-shirt.

Could he be more irresistible?

Louis has to sternly remind himself that he should not wish to be irresistible to probable 15 year olds. He wraps his arms around his chest. Perky nipples are probably inappropriate given the current situation.

When his own personal concert has finished Louis applauds with frozen fingers and tells the group to wait one second while he gets his wallet.

He’s padding back down the hallway when he hears soft sniffling coming from outside.

“B-But I sounded aw-awful,” someone is hiccupping. “He’s not gonna give us anyth-thing because I was so b-bad.”

“Sophie, sweetheart, you were perfect. Absolutely lovely,” the boy assures, voice soft and completely sincere. “Let’s dry those tears, yeah? Before your eyelashes freeze together.”

There’s one little giggle that sounds like it’s smothered into a jacket.

When Louis rounds the corner he’s confronted with the sight of the boy hugging a little girl into his chest, both arms wrapped around her and her head stuffed between his scarf and his neck.

Louis wants to punch something. Life is so unfair.

“So who do I give this to?” Louis asks as he digs around in his wallet.

“I’ll take it,” the boy replies, and extends one hand. He’s now supporting a seven year old with only one arm. Life is so, _so_ unfair.

Louis folds up 2 fifties and tucks them into the boys palm. His fingers are long and thin, skin smooth and so much warmer than Louis was expecting. Louis shivers.

The boy looks up at Louis with awestruck eyes. “This is 100 pounds.”

Louis shrugs. “It was a good song.”

One of the braver boys jumps at Louis and hugs him tight around the middle. An unexpected laugh startles out from his belly and Louis pats the boy on his wool-covered head.

“Have a merry Christmas, you guys.”

When Louis goes to sleep his hand still feels pleasantly warm.

*******

On the 12th Louis is in the kitchen pulling some more Christmas cookies out of the oven when the doorbell rings.

He doesn’t even bother looking up because House Rule number 14 states that whoever is closest to the front door has to answer it. They have it in writing. Liam is very organised.

“Hey Tommo!” Liam shouts.

“Yeah what?” Louis hollers back.

“Christmas carollers!”

Louis flings the cookies onto the counter and makes it out of the kitchen in two leaps. Then he forces himself to cool down and strolls nonchalantly down the hallway.

Today the boy is wearing a brown leather jacket with a wool-lined collar and a slightly sheepish expression.

“Back so soon?”

The boy shrugs. “You made quite the impression.” Liam raises his eyebrows. “On the – on the kids.” He coughs and gestures weakly to his minions.

“Of course.”

This time a different tiny person gives the introductory speech and then they launch into their song.

_Sleigh bells ring, are you listening?_

_In the lane, snow is glistening._

_A beautiful sight, we’re happy tonight_

_Walking in a winter wonderland._

Now that Liam is here, Louis doesn’t gawk quite so openly at the boy. He smiles at each kid in turn and then lets his eyes casually drift over to the boy. His laughable attempt at indifference comes to a grinding halt when he sees the boy’s mouth moving.

It’s slick and pink and perfect and Louis desperately wants to slap a hand over it before he does unspeakable things that could get him arrested.

In lieu of that, Louis squeezes his eyes closed and concentrates on the singing.

It doesn’t help. The boy’s voice is low and gravelly and reminds Louis of bedroom eyes and lazy mornings. He’s talented, oh _so_ talented, but it’s obvious he’s holding himself back. He complements the kids but doesn’t overpower them. He knows these kids are the stars and he’s merely a backup dancer, there for support, there to make them look better.

Louis lets this boy’s whiskey voice lull him into fantasies of tight trousers and bare chests.

It only ends when Liam pinches him in the side.

“Ow, Liam, what?”

“They’ve stopped singing.”

“I knew that.” Louis glances back at the boy to find him flicking his gaze between Liam and Louis with a slight furrow between his brows.

“You donate to the Children’s Hospital, Li, and I’ll be right back.”

Louis runs back into the kitchen and grabs the now cool tray of cookies from the counter. When he returns there are literal squeals of delight and the boy sinks his teeth into his bottom lip to try and quell his smile.

That night Louis dreams of hot mouths and bitten lips.

*******

On the 13th Louis flops dramatically onto Niall’s desk.

“I think a boy is stalking me,” he proclaims without preamble.

“Congratulations, dude!” Niall thumps him on the back.

“He’s a teenager, Niall.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah.”

Niall goes back to tapping at his computer while Louis sighs repeatedly.

“How much of a teenager are we talking here?”

“I don’t know,” Louis moans. “16 if I’m lucky.”

“Well, that’s legal at least.”

“I’m about to turn 24 Ni!”

“That’s only 8 years, Lou. It could be worse.”

“Exactly!” Louis shouts. A colleague gives him the evil eye and Louis flips her the bird when she turns away. “It _could_ be worse, so much worse.”

“Then why don’t you _find out_ how old the kid actually is before you have a mental breakdown all over the Magnusson account?”

“Don’t be sensible with me, Niall. I’m too far gone for sensible.”

Niall sighs at him and cards a gentle hand through Louis’ hair. “Are you sure you’re not just making excuses?”

Louis opens his eyes to frown at his friend.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Sometimes you need to allow yourself to be happy, Lou.”

For someone so laidback, Niall can be infuriatingly cryptic at the least helpful of times.

*******

Louis wakes up in a panic on Saturday the 14th when he realises that he’s leaving for Doncaster next weekend and he hasn’t even _begun_ to think about Christmas shopping.

So he braves the soggy ground and biting cold to go out and hunt for appropriately sister themed Christmas presents.

By lunchtime Louis is fed up with _everything_. He’s fed up with overly cheerful sales assistants and pushy mothers with prams and going from too cold to too hot to too cold and back again. He’s got sore feet and aching arms and a throbbing head, and his wallet is crying tears of silver and gold.

Louis decides to just fuck it all and storms into the nearest café.

The café appears completely deserted, empty of both customers and staff, so Louis dumps his purchases in a booth and wanders up to the counter to have a look at the display cases. When he’s decided on a full fat ham and cheese croissant, with a blueberry muffin and a hot chocolate because _fuck_ skinny jeans, Louis glances up from the displays and is met with wide green eyes staring back at him.

Louis squeals like a pig and jumps backwards, landing with half his arse on a table.

“What the _fuck!_ ”

“I’m sorry!” the boy yelps, turning a bright shade of pink. “I didn’t mean to scare you, I’m really sorry!”

Louis presses a hand over his racing heart and then squints suspiciously at the boy. “Are you stalking me?”

“What, no!” the boy replies, strangled and a little too quick. “I – I work here. I’ve worked here for 2 years.”

“I thought you worked at the after school centre, with the kids.” Louis approaches the counter slowly, rubbing gingerly at his backside.

The boys eyes flicker down then back up and he gulps. “I don’t. I mean, I do, but I just volunteer, I don’t get paid.”

Again with the dilemma, pet his hair or shag him senseless?

“Huh,” is what Louis decides on.

The boy turns from pink to red and rubs his nose with his thumb. “So, um, can I get you anything, or…”

“Right, yeah, I’ll take a ham and cheese croissant, a blueberry muffin and a hot chocolate. To have here. Please.”

The boy taps Louis' order into the register and Louis hands over some cash.

The boy takes a deep breath. “And, um, what’s your – what’s your name?”

Louis raises his eyebrows. He’s a forward little thing this one.

“I need it for the, um, drink order.”

Louis looks pointedly around the empty café and the boy blushes furiously but doesn’t back down. Fortitude, Louis admires that in a person.

“It’s Louis.”

The boy nods like he’s filing it away. “Um, ‘m Harry.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Harry. Officially.”

Louis turns and walks back to his booth, but he catches Harry grinning at his shoes from the corner of his eye.

When Louis’ hot chocolate is ready Harry announces his name so as to distinguish him from _all_ the other people in the room who also ordered hot chocolates. Once again Louis glances pointedly around the café but this kid is sticking to his guns.

Louis sighs and gets up to collect his drink from the counter. There’s three pink marshmallows on the saucer that he’s sure he didn’t ask for. He doesn’t mention it.

“This hot chocolate is fucking phenomenal, Harry,” Louis moans when Harry brings over his food order.

Harry flushes all the way down his neck and mutters a shy little “thanks.”

Louis has to ask, the curiosity is pushing the words up his throat. He just hopes it doesn’t kill him.

“How old are you, Harry?”

Harry looks up and stares right into his eyes, unwavering. “I’m 18. I’ll be 19 in February.”

And that’s far better than Louis was hoping for. Even though he knows he shouldn’t have been hoping for anything.

“I’ll be 24 in ten days.” He’s not entirely sure why he’s telling Harry this, but he feels like he owes it, like Harry deserves to know.

“That’s cool.” Harry grins and bites his lip.

Louis’ almost out the door again when Harry calls him back.

“Um, there’s a recital. At the school. On Monday night. Just, um, in case you wanted to come. To, uh, support the kids. And all.”

Louis nods slowly. “I'll think about it.”

*******

On the 16th Louis fights with himself all day and then breaks 4 different traffic laws speeding to Deacon Road Primary School. He sneaks into the auditorium just as the recital is beginning and takes a seat in the back row. He keeps his face in the shadows, giving himself an out if he needs one.

Half an hour in the After School Care kids make their way onto the stage and Louis recognises Emma, the little girl he demolished, as she steps forward and takes the microphone. The mothers in the audience can barely contain themselves as she introduces the choir in her tiny toddler voice. Even Louis can admit that this kid is so fucking adorable it hurts.

Harry’s standing with them like he always is, singing along and handing out comforting pats when needed, but he seems a little distracted, eyes flicking around the auditorium, never resting in one spot for too long.

He grows progressively more dejected as their set list dwindles and by the final bars he looks positively crestfallen.

At the end of the concert Louis should leave. He should get up and walk away and never, ever think about banging a teenager ever again. But he can’t get Harry’s crushed expression out of his head and he has a sneaking suspicion that this isn’t just something physical, that it’s something more than hormones and chemical reactions.

So Louis picks his way slowly down the aisle and waits until Harry has finished hugging his last charge goodbye before walking up behind him.

“Hey.”

Harry spins around so fast that Louis needs to make a quick grab to steady him.

“Louis,” he breathes. “You came.”

“Yeah. You were really great, by the way. Couldn’t even tell you weren’t 11 years old.”

“Shut up.” Harry shoves at Louis’ shoulder. Then he slides his palm down to link their fingers together, long and thin and warm.

Louis lets him.

*******

Tuesday the 17th is the office Christmas party and Louis gets spectacularly plastered.

When he eventually crawls into bed he tugs himself off to thoughts of big hands and sinful lips and young eyes. He comes the hardest he has in months and he can’t even find it in himself to feel guilty.

He thinks maybe he’s allowing himself to be happy. And then he promptly falls asleep.

*******

At exactly 7 p.m. on the 18th Louis’ doorbell rings. Liam’s already left to go home for the holidays and Louis has no doubts about who is standing on his front step.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” Harry breathes.

Louis grins. “So are you gonna sing me a carol?”

“What?” Harry scrunches up his face in confusion.

“If you come knocking on my door in December I expect you to sing me a carol.”

“Um, okay,” Harry says, drawing out the vowels until he sounds even more ridiculous than normal. He takes a deep breath in.

_Greeting cards have all been sent,_

_The Christmas rush is through,_

_But I still have one wish to make,_

_A special one for you._

Louis lets himself drink in the sight of this boy on his doorstep, he lets himself fantasise as Harry’s smooth voice wraps around the words, and he lets himself have this moment.

When Harry finishes Louis breathes out.

“Harry, you’re 18.”

Harry smiles like he doesn’t quite get what Louis’ saying. “I’m aware.”

“I’m 23. I’m about to turn 24.”

“Is there that much of a difference?”

“Yes!” Louis exclaims. “There’s a five year difference! Doesn’t that bother you?”

Harry shakes his head. “No.” And he’s only 18, but he’s more sure of himself than Louis’ ever been.

“Are you positive you want this?”

Harry takes two steps forward. “Yes, Louis, I am. I want you, I do.”

“Okay.”

Louis lets himself be happy.

“Okay?”

“Yeah. Look up.”

Harry looks up. And his blush disappears under his scarf but his smile has never been so bright.

“You have no idea how many delivery men I had to smooch while waiting for you to turn up.” 

Harry demands kisses and Louis gives them over gladly.

Not even his wildest fantasies prepared him for how good Harry tastes. Like snow and blueberry muffins and something Louis thinks he won’t find anywhere else. Something young and tall and awkward and sure.

*******

On the 20th they’re adorable and domestic and bake Christmas cookies and put the leftover icing to very good use.

Harry’s mouth is fucking incredible.

*******

On the 24th of December Louis is walking out of Sainsbury’s when his boyfriend calls to wish him a happy birthday. Harry doesn’t mention Christmas once.


End file.
